


The Same Old Fears.

by balthazar_impresario



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Destiel - Freeform, M/M, Subtextual Sabriel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:14:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balthazar_impresario/pseuds/balthazar_impresario
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester, owner of a small record shop and a formally off the rails brother, wasn't expecting Castiel. He wasn't really expecting much from his life except for it to keep on in the same predictable way. Castiel Novak, reclusive and socially incompetent, didn't know he needed Dean until he found him and realised there was more to his monotonous life then books and stuffy art galleries.<br/>AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I fell to my knees like Jesus in the cave, I knew I would die. But my lips could only say; I’m not your son so why have you forsaken me?" - Protest The Hero, Heretics & Killers.  
> Title taken from Pink Floyd's "Wish You Were Here". Hope you enjoy, and thanks to my best friends and editors, Lucy and Rosa.  
> All mistakes are my own, and apologies for any colloquial mistakes; I'm English not American.

_The record clicks over onto the turntable, audible in the practically silent shop. The vinyl spins and the song starts; the bass line reverberates throughout the room, echoing slightly. The opening chords pick up, the acoustics of the room complementing the melancholy tune._

_"I've been travelling, but I don't know where._  
            _I've been missing you, but you just don't care._  
 _And I've been wondering, I've seen Greece and Rome,_  
 _Lost in the wilderness, so far from home..."_

Dean sorts and reorders the shelves of records in the empty shop, humming along to the Stones as he does so. Although he's not a massive fan of their later work, this song serves as the exception; for him, it's always reminded him of Sam- God knows that Sam's been lost. But now he's back in Dean's life and it's okay. Well, sure Sam went 5 years without even _calling_ Dean and, yeah, the kid didn't show to his own father's goddamn _funeral_ , not even to say goodbye one last-

Dean cuts himself off mid thought- that was the past and he _had_ forgiven Sam, he'd even tried his best to see it all from Sam's point of view.  

Dean had always been John's little soldier, especially after Mary died. Dean felt that, what with his wife dying and having to raise two kids on his own, Dean owed John his obedience at the very least.

Sam, however, was of the opinion that, seeing as Dean had been the one to raise him acting not only as a brother but also a pseudo-father, he thereby didn't owe John anything; he saw John's alcoholism as giving up, whereas Dean saw it as John trying to escape.

Either way, Sam had finally broke; he left for Stanford on a full scholarship, only returning home to Kansas once a year on Dean's birthday. Then, one year, Sam hadn't shown and when Dean had called his cell, that number was invalid.

For the next five years Dean dealt on his own, working at the Roadhouse seven days a week, only to come home and clean up John's vomit until, after John's death, he'd pooled his resources and bought out a record shop, deciding that he was sick of bartending and that it was about time he did something for himself.

"In Through The Out Door", usually just "The Out Door" became Dean's own personal haven. Music had always been his love, and being able to spend all day listening, comparing and selling it? Dean freaking _loved_ it.

Of course, as the saying goes, nothing good can last. Only two months after setting up shop, Sam shows up looking for work. In the past five years the kid has grown to epic proportions, practically towering over Dean. He's tanned and his hair is long and yet, if Dean ignores the fading track marks and scars, he looks happier than Dean has ever seen him. As much as he wants to hate Sam, he can't because he's his brother, he's _Sammy_ , and no matter how much he's fucked up, evidence clear on his arms and the look in his eyes that shows he's seen some shit, Dean will always forgive him.

Eventually, over a couple of crates of beer and a bottle of tequila, Dean gets the whole story out of Sam. He learns of how, after Stanford, he wanted to travel before he started working and how, whilst hiking through Illinois, he met Ruby; feisty, adventurous and ready to see the world. They ended up travelling across the globe together, hitchhiking where they could and paying their way by gambling. Then, of course, Ruby had started smoking pot, which yeah, Sam had thought that was _fine_ , everyone does pot once, right?

But then it was coke and meth and next thing little Sammy knew he was living in run down motels, screwing random women and injecting smack. At this point, Dean had clenched his beer bottle so tight he thought it might break. But Sam had picked his shit up, got out and admitted himself to rehab. A year later and he was clean, poor as fuck, but _clean_.

Dean had listened to Sam talk, watched as his fists had clenched when he spoke of his addiction, and how his jaw tightened whenever he said Ruby's name. Dean had asked him if he'd been in love with Ruby and Sam had merely looked away, brow furrowed.

After that, they'd not spoken about it again- why bring up a sore subject? Sam ended up working in The Out Door with Dean and sleeping on his couch. It wasn't perfect, but it worked and anyway, Dean was just happy to have his little brother back.

_"Been travelling far and wide, wonder who's gonna' be my guide..."_

As the song faded out, the ending words echoing around the shop, Dean, who had been so wrapped up in his own thoughts, hadn't noticed someone enter the shop. The song clicks over to The Clash _"Should I Stay Or Should I Go"_ as Dean walks over to the other side of the shop to see if the man needs any help.

His first impression is to wonder if the guy's lost; he's dressed in a suit and a massive trench coat, looking more suited to an office than a record shop. "Can I help you?" Dean asks.

The man looks up and Dean is blindsided by how startlingly blue the man's eyes are, they're almost _pretty._ If it wasn't for the guy's strong jaw line, Dean would've said he was feminine looking, but the stubble and bed hair was enough to make the man darkly handsome- sexy even.

"I was looking for a gift for my brother," the man replies and _Jesus Christ_ , that voice compared with that hair and all Dean can think is _sex._

Dean, however, takes professionalism seriously and forces down his libido. "Uh, sure. Okay, what does your brother like?"

The man shifted awkwardly on his feet, "I don't know. I, uh, I'm not particularly good with popular culture."

"Right." Dean said, "Can you tell me anything he likes? A song, even?"

The man frowned, "There is one song, but I'm not sure of its name."

Dean rubbed his jaw, "Can you remember the lyrics? Or even vaguely how it goes?"

The dark haired man blushed, "Uh, ' _don't you want me, baby?'_ " It took a moment for Dean to realise the guy was quoting the song, and not hitting on him.

He laughed, "That's easy, The Human League. I have a few of their albums over there, he pointed to a rack the other side of the store, "Or you could try The Scissor Sisters, which I guess are pretty similar."

The man made his thanks and headed over to where Dean had pointed out, whilst Dean made his way back to the counter, decidedly _not_ thinking about the guy's ass.

AC/DC were playing, but Dean decided he needed something mellower, instead putting on Pink Floyd's Echoes compilation album. He wasn't a huge fan of Pink Floyd, but Echoes had all the tracks on Dean liked, plus a few others that he didn't mind too much.

It wasn't until _"Another Brick In The Wall (Part 2)"_ started playing that the man returned to the counter, two records in hand, both the Human League.

"Playing safe then?" Dean asked, as he rang up the man's purchases.

"It seems best," he replied, "I have little to no knowledge of music and I wouldn't want to buy Gabriel something he wouldn't like."

"Gabriel?" Dean asked. Wasn't Gabriel the angel in the Bible that gave messages and stuff?

The man smiled in a _'I've told this story too many times'_ kind of way, "Yes. My siblings and I are all named after angels; Michael is my oldest brother, then Gabriel and my youngest brother is called Samandriel."

"Seriously? Wow, dude, that's uh, different, I guess. " Dean put the records in a bag and slid them across the counter, but found himself not wanting to stop talking to the man. "So, which angel are you?"

The man accepted the bag, "I'm Castiel," he said, reaching across the counter to shake Dean's hand.

Dean, unaccustomed to such polite behaviour, took a second to react, before grasping Castiel's palm and shaking his hand, "I'm Dean."

"Nice to meet you, Dean," Castiel said. Their eyes locked and it took too long for Dean to realise he'd been holding Castiel's hand too long to be considered acceptable. Castiel seemed to realise at the same time and took a step back, "I should probably go." He said, but continued to stand where he was, not looking like he wanted to leave.

"Uh, sure man. If you ever want to, uh, expand your musical horizons, come back and I'll give you a one-oh-one on classic rock."

Castiel smiled and nodded, "I think I'd like that Dean, thank you," he said, before exiting the shop.

Dean spent the next few hours serving customers and reorganising the shelves; a tedious job that he normally offloaded onto Sam but Sam spent Tuesday mornings at his support group. By the time lunch rolled around, Dean had forgotten all about the man with the funny name and too big coat.

Sam entered the shop, balancing cups of coffee and, what smelt like, a bag of burgers in one hand, and a pile of packages in the other.

Dean watched as he struggled from behind the counter, smirking when Sam dropped all the packages down. "Hey honey, how was your weekly circlejerk?" Dean said, shit eating grin in place.

Sam adopted his classic bitch face, "It's not a _circlejerk_ , Dean. It's a support group and it's actually really important to me."

Dean rolled his eyes and dove into the bag of burgers. No matter what he said out loud, Dean was happy that Sam was staying on the straight and narrow.

"What's the packages?" Sam asked, as he opened up a disgustingly healthy salad and started covering it in dressing.

Dean scrunched his nose up at Sam's meal, "I don't know" he said, drawing his attention from the greenery the Sam was now digging into and turning instead to the packages.

One package was the copy of David Bowie's latest album that he'd bought, hoping it'd be good but not holding out much hope. The other package, however, was a surprise to Dean. It was from Bobby, an old friend of John's who lived up in South Dakota. Dean ripped off the brown wrapping paper and opened the small cardboard box. Inside was a set of keys and a note;  
            _It's been nearly 4 months, when are you gonna come and pick up this blasted car, you idjit._

Dean looked up at Sam and grinned, "Fancy a trip up to see Bobby?" 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had planned to rent a car and drive up to Bobby's the Friday after next, which gave him ten days to find someone to run the shop while he was gone. It had seemed an easy enough task, but after asking everyone he could think of, and them all being busy, Dean was beginning to panic.

Ellen and Ash were away visiting Jo, and Rufus was on a hunting trip, which pretty much ruled out everyone Dean knew that wasn't Sam or Bobby. He could, of course, just close shop for a few days but Dean wasn't exactly rich, and even a few days loss of income could land him in shit.

It was these thoughts that Dean was pondering when, on Wednesday, the bell over the shop door alerted him to a new customer. He looked up from the pile of records he was sorting and found himself face to face with the man from yesterday; Castiel.

Clearly, as well as knowing nothing about music, the man also had no understanding of personal space and at such close a distance, Dean could see the ring of darker blue that surrounded Castiel's irises.

_Jeeze_ , clearly Dean was spending too much time with Sam because he was turning into a complete girl.

However, girl or not, Dean found that he hadn't stepped back from Castiel and was, if anything, leaning towards the man and not away.

He cleared his throat, and Castiel seemed to realise he was staring, "Hello Dean," he said, as he stepped back, giving Dean more room to breathe.

"Uh, hey," Dean said, turning back to the records in an attempt to stop himself staring. "Can I help?" he asked, looking over his shoulder at the man.

He sensed more than saw that Castiel was shuffling awkwardly, clearly nervous about something. Dean forced down the smirk that was threatening to surface, instead choosing to wait for Cas to speak. "I had some free time on my hands and I was wondering if I could take up your offer to expand my music taste?"

Dean considered it for a moment; today had been a pretty slow day and since he'd taken on Sam, he'd been consistent with all his paperwork. There was no reason why he couldn't spend some time with Cas. "Sure," he said, pushing the records back into a pile, deciding to finish ordering them later- or just get Sam to do it.

Dean led Cas back to the counter, where Dean had a record player that was connected to the shop's speakers, as well as a CD player. "So, do you have any preferences at all?" Dean asked, not sure where to start.

"Not in particular, though I was not a fan of the records I bought for my brother, they were too..." Castiel trailed off, clearly looking for a polite way to phrase what he wanted to say.

Dean snorted, "That wasn't music, Cas. I'll show you _real_ music." Dean flicked through his CDs until he found what he was looking for; The Dire Straits' " _Making Movies_ ". Dean skipped forward to " _Romeo and Juliet"_ and let the opening chords fill the room. He'd decided that Cas was probably more of ballad guy, than a full out, guitars blaring kind of guy. He looked up to ask if he'd made the right choice, only to find Cas was looking at him funny, head tilted to the side slightly, in a way that reminded Dean of a bird.

"You called me Cas." He said, continuing to stare at Dean in somewhat unnerving way.

Dean frowned, "Uh, sorry? I can stick to Castiel, if you-"

Castiel interrupted him, "No, I like it. It's just, uh, only Samandriel calls me Cas." Dean could tell there was a story behind that, but he refrained from asking, knowing it wasn't really his place. He had only just met the guy after all.

_"And I dreamed your dream for you and now your dream is real,  
How can you look at me as if I was just another one of your deals?"_

The music echoed around the room and Dean cocked any eyebrow, "Opinion?" He wasn't sure if it was too sappy for Cas, hell, he hardly knew the guy. Personally, Dean had a soft spot for this song, not that he'd ever let Sammy know that- he did have a manly reputation to uphold after all.

"Yes, I think I like this." The slight hint of a smile graced Cas' face and Dean considered it a success. Dean couldn't help but smile in the return, and when he looked away, he saw Sam looking over at him from the other side of the shop, with a weird expression on his face. Dean mouthed "bitch" at him and Sam snorted, mouthing "jerk" in return. 

He spent the next two hours going through music, finding what Cas' liked- Bob Dylan, Rod Stewart; what he _didn't_ like, which was anything remotely like pop, or too heavy. He also found that Castiel _really_ liked David Bowie, as well as Van Morrison.

Castiel eventually, however, had to leave, telling Dean he had to get at least a little work done. Cas was an author, or at least that's what he'd told Dean. Apparently he wrote historical non-fiction books on renaissance art. He'd started to tell Dean about the research he was doing into Leonardo da Vinci, before he caught on that Dean knew _nothing_ about art.

"I, um, I'm going to a gallery, just a small thing, on Friday. You could join me? As a thank you, for-" Cas gestured to the array of discs spread across the counter, "this."

Dean smiled, "Sure, Cas, sounds like, uh, fun." Dean _hated_ art, but he hated art galleries more; pretentious people swanning around being all _rich_ and, uh, and _pretentious._ But, Dean liked Cas, and Cas liked art so he'd suck it up and deal.

After Cas had left, with two Van Morrison albums that Dean had given him; okay, so he didn't usually just hand out stock, but he liked Cas, okay? He seemed genuine in a way most people weren't and everyone's music collection had to start _somewhere_.

Anyway, after he'd left, Sam finally came over to talk to him, bitchface firmly in place. "What happened to the shop having no money? Last week, _I_ had to stay and work when I had a date, but now you're _giving away stock?_ "

Dean ruffled Sam's hair patronisingly, "I work in mysterious ways, Sammy." He said, before heading into the backroom to make a coffee, Sam shouting after him "Don't compare yourself to _God_ , Dean!" Dean chuckled, he was in a _very_ good mood, and he wasn't going to lie; it was mostly because of Castiel. 

Dean whistled as he prepared coffee, " _Brown Eyed Girl"_ stuck in his head from the number of times Cas had wanted it played. It had been nice discovering Cas' music taste with him, watching his face shift from stoic to either impressed or not as the song went on. It was particularly funny watching his reaction to Black Sabbath; his face had scrunched up, making wrinkles between his eyebrows, and he'd practically winced at the sheer _volume_.

Dean repressed the temptation to call it endearing because he just didn't think shit like that, but he could admit, if only to himself, that maybe be liked Cas a little bit more than friends. He was going to a fucking art gallery for the guy after all, which reminded him;

"Oi, Samantha!" Dean poked his head out the backroom, shouting to Sam across the shop.

" _What?_ " Sam replied pissily, throwing his signature bitchface once more.

"D'you have any books on Da Vinci?" Dean asked; he didn't want to show up on Friday knowing fuck all about anything.

Sam frowned at him, "Uh, no, art's not really my thing. But why the hell do you want a book on Da Vinci?"

Dean smirked, "No reason!" he responded, before disappearing into the back again; it looked like he'd have to make a trip to the library.

* * *

Dean rolled his shoulders uncomfortably, and scanned the bookshelves, looking for something vaguely informative. He'd had to drive to Kansas City to find a library, as Lawrence didn't have one locally, so he was already in a shit poor mood. It didn't help that the librarian was giving him a death glare that could rival Sammy's, adding to his already increasing discomfort.

He pulled out a book from the shelf _"Renaissance Art: A Beginner's Guide"_ and flicked through the opening pages, lingering on the images. Cas had said he liked the renaissance, right? Dean was _so_ out of his depth.

He shrugged and headed back to the counter, book in hand- either way, at least he'd _tried._ He pulled Sam's library card out his back pocket and handed it over to the librarian, who narrowed her eyes further (which Dean didn't think was possible) and scanned in the book.

"Bring it back two weeks from now or you'll have to pay a fine," she said, holding the book out. Dean went to take it, flashing his award winning smile, but she held on for a second and repeated, in her unpleasantly nasal voice, " _Two weeks_ , okay?" Dean simply nodded and grabbed the book, walking out the library as quickly as possible.

Before heading back, Dean decided to stop off for something to eat first; greasy diner food sounded like perfection right now, especially as Sam was going through a health kick and kept trying to force Dean into eating rabbit food.

Pulling up at a promising looking place, Dean parked shitty Euro-trash that he was driving until he picked up the Impala, and walked intp the diner, taking a seat in one of the booths. By the time the waitress had made her way over to him, Dean had made his choice;

"I'll have coffee, black, and a cheeseburger with a side of fries," he said, letting his eyes drag down the waitress's body appreciatively, "and, well, what dessert do _you_ recommend?" He winked and the blond girl giggled.

"Our pancake stack is pretty big," she said suggestively.

"Is it now?" Dean replied, smirking. She wasn't spectacular looking, and if he was entirely honest, Dean wasn't even looking for a hook-up; it was just his second nature to flirt with _everyone._

"Yeah but our pie's pretty good too, or so I've been told." The waitress bit down on her lower lip, smiling at him coyly.

"Well, I'm most certainly a pie man, so that'll be great thanks."

"Let me know if _I_ can get you anything," she said, before walking off. Dean grinned; he was pretty sure her number would be on the receipt.

However, just as he was basking in his own sex appeal, a snort came from the booth behind him. Dean turned, looking over the top of his booth at the guy on the other side; he had long, brown hair -though not as long as Sam's- and, well, Dean could only describe his eyes as golden. The man had a smirk on his face and was raising his eyebrow at Dean, clearly challenging him to comment.

"Can I help you?" Dean asked, throwing his best 'fuck right off' face. This guy was clearly overestimating himself; even sitting down, Dean could see the man couldn't be anything more than 5ft 7".

The man smirked, "I was simply enjoying your cute attempts at flirting; really, it was _adorable_."

Who the _fuck_ did this guy think he was? Dean cocked an eyebrow, "Clearly you would know better; I mean, at that height, what woman wouldn't love an adorable midget like you?" Dean smirked when he noticed the man's jaw tense slightly.

"That's fine," the guy responded, "I'll refrain from telling the waitress about your closet homosexuality."

Dean winked, "I left the closet a long time ago." He wasn't sure why he was still talking to the guy, but the mischievous glint in his eyes and general snarky manner appealed to Dean- a man after his own heart. 

The guy stood and rounded the booth, sliding in next to Dean, "That an offer?" He asked, throwing an arm over Dean's shoulder.

Dean laughed and threw the guys arm off, "Bad luck, I never put out on the first date."

The smaller man chuckled in response, "I'm Gabe," he said, reaching out a hand to shake Dean's. The name rang a bell in Dean's head, but he couldn't quite place it.

"I'm Dean," he said, shaking Gabe's hand. "And I'm also fucking hungry, so you're going to have to excuse me." While they had been talking the waitress had bought over his food and Dean pulled his plate close, taking a huge bite of his burger.

Gabe snorted, "However much I'd enjoy staying and watching you eat that burger so seductively, I've gotta go." He stood, "Nice to meet you, Dean-o."

It wasn't until Dean had finished eating his burger and was tucking into the pie bought over by a somewhat crestfallen waitress, that Dean noticed Gabe had written his number on a napkin.

_Well_ , Dean thought, _points for being a smooth son of a bitch._


	3. Chapter 3

Thursday night found Dean sat in the shop, bored out his freaking mind. Seeing as he was leaving Sam in charge alone tomorrow night whilst he went out with Castiel, Dean had allowed Sam to have the night off.

However much he hated working in the shop alone, it had been worth it when Sam's face lit up; he'd been telling Dean all day about this date he was going on tonight, and how this guy was really great and funny and _yadda yadda._

Admittedly, Dean had been somewhat surprised to find out Sam played for both sides of the team, but it hadn't bothered him. In fact, half of him revelled in it. Even though John had always blatantly preferred Dean, he'd always hated his "perverse pleasures" and Dean somewhat wishes he could rub it in John's face that _both_ his sons turned out "perverse".

It was getting late and there were only a few customers in the shop; one guy decked out completely in leather with a mullet who was studiously going through all of the _Rammstien_ albums and a pair of younger girls flicking through the compilations section. Dean wasn't sure, but by the looks they kept throwing him and the muffled giggles, they _weren't_ here to buy anything.

After a while the shop emptied out, the two girls blushing bright red when he'd said goodbye to them and winked, leaving Dean alone in his boredom. He spent a little time tidying, shamelessly dancing to The Who as he did so. He was glad for the soundproofing he'd put up when he'd first bought The Out Door, as he was pretty sure the neighbours didn't want to hear his off-key rendition to " _Baba O'Riley"_.

It wasn't until 6pm that he finally decided to shut up shop and venture upstairs to his depressingly empty apartment. Even though Sam was an obsessively tidy freak and took up all the room on Dean's couch, the apartment felt too quiet when he wasn't there.

Dean slumped down on said couch and pulled his phone out his pocket. He had been toying with the idea of calling the guy from the diner, Gabe, all evening and now he had the chance. It wasn't a booty call, Dean was just really freaking bored and the guy had been a laugh.

Dean scrolled through his contacts until he reached Gabe's and hit send. He waited patiently for Gabe to pick up, but eventually it went to voicemail. Dean frowned and put the phone down, not wanting to call again and seem desperate.

Just as he was considering giving in and going to bed, his phone began to ring, the opening of " _Back in Black"_ playing through the mobile's speakers. Dean looked at the number, it was Gabe.

"Hey, it's Dean from the diner." He said as he answered, hoping that Gabe remembered who he was.

However, the voice that responded was not the one he was expecting, " _Dean?_ Why are you calling my brother?"

Dean froze. It couldn't be... But, _fuck_ , he remembered why Gabe's name had sounded so familiar. _Castiel_ had a brother called Gabriel. "Oh, uh, hey Cas." He said nervously, feeling kinda like he'd been caught cheating, even though he and Castiel weren't even remotely together.

"I do not understand. Why did you not tell me you and my brother are friends?"

Dean flinched; Cas sounded hurt. "No! I, uh, this is going to sound completely ridiculous but I met Gabriel  a few days ago at this diner and we got talking and he gave me his number."

There was silence, but Cas finally spoke, "If you planned to call my brother up for a date, I'm afraid to say he's already on one, he just left his cell behind accidentally." Cas' voice was monotonous.

" _Fuck_ , no, Cas I wasn't calling him up for a date!" Dean sighed and ran a hand through his hair, "Sam's out and I was bored, so I thought I'd call him to, well, talk I guess." Dean chuckled, "To be honest, I wasn't sure _why_ I called, just that I'm bored out of my mind."

Dean could practically hear Cas frowning over the phone, "So you're not interested in sexual relations with my brother?"

Dean chocked, "Sexual _what_? God no, I mean, no offence but he's not really my type. At all, _ever_."

Cas chuckled, "I'm glad to hear that." The simple statement made Dean's face grow hot and he couldn't help but smile. "What is your type then, Dean?"

He thought for a moment, "I, uh, I don't really know?" He wanted to tell Castiel that he was his type, but considering he'd met the guy twice, it was probably a little forward. "Will you be disappointed if I just say tall, dark and handsome?" It _was_ the truth, but it also just so happened that Castiel himself was tall, dark haired and handsome as _fuck_.

Cas laughed again, "I consider that an acceptable answer, though I think you'll be lucky to find anyone as tall as yourself."

Dean snorted, "You've seen my brother round the shop, right? He's a freaking _giant_." It was true that Dean was tall, but next to Sam he looked tiny.

"Point made, though I think it's illegal in this state to marry your sibling." Dean laughed. There was something about Cas' dry humour that really tickled him.

Unintentionally, Dean spent the next few hours talking to Cas about various topics, not even noticing the time until he looked at his watch and it was 23:46. He yawned, "It's late Cas, I should really hit the sack. But we're still doing the art thing tomorrow right?"

Cas snorted, "Yes, Dean, we are still doing the _art thing_ tomorrow." Sarcasm dripped from his words.

"I'll see you tomorrow then," Dean said, feeling like a teenage girl not wanting to hang up on her boyfriend.

"Until tomorrow, Dean, good night and sleep well." The line went dead and Dean dropped his phone to the floor, stretched and rubbed and a hand over his tired eyes.

He seriously considered just sleeping on the couch, but then Sam would end up in his bed and that was _so_ not gonna' happen. He pulled himself up and stumbled to his room, stripped his clothes down to his boxers and fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

_Slightly calloused hands ran up his thighs, followed by a warm mouth that pressed kisses to his skin. Dean moaned at the contact and spread his legs further, canting his hips slightly in a desperate need for friction. A head of dark hair came into view, before a warm mouth descended down onto his cock, making him thrust up and thread his hands into the dark hair._

_He was sucked down deep, and Dean could feel as the head of his dick hit the back of their throat. Each time they sucked back down, Dean's eyes rolled back into his head slightly, hands tugging desperately at their hair in a silent plea for 'more'._

_Dean was close, really close, and he looked down just as the man looked up and their eyes locked..._

Dean awoke with a gasp, sheets twisted round his ankles and boxers sticky. He grimaced and, _yup,_ sure enough that was slowly cooling come sticking to his skin.

Dean sighed and slipped out of bed, heading to the bathroom to clean himself up. He was _thirty_ ; he shouldn't still be having wet dreams. _Especially_ , not over guys he'd only met twice, as the man in the dream had undeniably been Castiel. Dean could still remember the intense pleasure that had ripped through him the moment he'd looked into those ridiculously blue eyes.

Dean returned from the bathroom and pulled on a pair of clean boxers before falling back into bed, determined to forget what had happened and to get over this stupid crush he had.

The next morning found Dean grumpy and Sam in a ridiculously good mood, to the point where Dean was surprised he wasn't bounding round the kitchen, tail wagging.

The only good thing about Sam's mood was that when Dean dragged himself out of bed Friday morning, there was a hot pot of coffee waiting and a plate of bacon and eggs. He ate quickly, trying not to think of Cas, and instead distracting himself with plans for his and Sam’s road trip up to Bobby’s next week.

When Dean finally headed down to the shop, Sam was already behind the till, helping the early morning customers and be generally bubbly. Dean felt his breakfast shift in his stomach and wondered if he was actually going to throw up.

After the pre-work rush had cleared out, Dean had a chance to ask Sam about his date last night, watching half sickened and half envious as his brother's eyes had gone all hazy and dreamy as he described the apparently romantic date to a chocolate factory.

The only romantic thing about chocolate was licking it off another person's skin and- _there we go,_ Dean was thinking about Castiel again. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts, only the image of Cas naked and spread across his head, chocolate slipping down his chest and building up in his navel kept returning. It was ridiculous, he was supposed to be seeing the guy in _six_ _hours_ and all he could think of doing was jumping him.

This was going to be a _very_ long day.

* * *

5:30pm found Dean standing in his room, wearing only his boxers and staring mournfully at his wardrobe. His meagre number of clothes tended towards the informal and he had no idea what to wear.

He was running out of time, so he made a quick decision and pulled on his best pair of dark jeans and a black, button up shirt, hoping to dear God that Cas didn’t show up in a tux or anything as equally as absurd.

Now dressed, he brushed his teeth and pulled on a pair of Sam’s smart shoes. He’d never been happier that, though Sam was tall, he still had normal sized shoes that fitted Dean. He grabbed his keys and gave himself a once over in the mirror, before exiting his apartment.

Downstairs, Sammy was doodling aimlessly on a piece of paper, humming along to _“Free Bird_ ” and being generally unobservant. Not unobservant enough, however, to miss Dean sneaking out the front door.

“You look smart,” Sam said, smirking, before adopting a massive bitchface, “Hey! Are those my shoes?” Dean just grinned, winked and walked out, whistling as he did so.

Cas had promised to pick him up outside the shop, and Dean waited impatiently, shifting his weight from foot to foot and wishing he had the Impala.

Eventually, however, a small, European looking car pulled up, causing Dean to wrinkle his face in distaste, that is until Cas stepped out, at which point Dean lost track of all rational thought.

He wasn’t wearing a tux, no, but he was in suit trousers, a black shirt and waistcoat with a dark red tie. Dean couldn’t help but run his eyes over Cas’ attire appreciatively, finding himself somewhat dumbstruck, until Cas cleared his throat, raising an amused eyebrow.

“Hello Dean.” He said, his voice seeming deeper in the dark of the outdoors. “I hope you are well?”

Dean continued to stare for a moment, before pulling himself together and nodded dumbly, “Uh, yeah Cas, I’m great. How are you?”

Cas smiled slightly, the corning of his mouth lifting, “I am well.” He gestured to the passenger side door of the car, “Ready to go?” Dean nodded and climbed into the car, acutely aware of proximity of Cas and the smell of his aftershave; somewhat musky, but in a pleasant way.

As Cas drove, he told Dean about the gallery and what was likely to be shown. Much to Dean’s relief, it was only a small event, comprising of local artists and their work. Castiel had been asked to attend and write a piece on it for the local newspaper’s arts column.

The short car journey went quickly, conversation flowing easily between the two men. Dean had taken to trying to make Castiel laugh, and enjoying it immensely when he managed to. It was a rare sight, but one that made Dean grin like an idiot and his stomach clench.

Inside the gallery, it was much what Dean had expected; white walls and bare floorboards with canvases hung symmetrically to one another. The room was permeated with a deafening silence and Dean found himself trying to breathe quieter.

Castiel spoke briefly to the people on the door and a few people inside, but mostly he just spoke to Dean. It was almost endearing how determined Cas was to show Dean the art from his point of view. He pointed out the different techniques and influences, using his hands to explain what he meant.

Dean had to admit that he was actually enjoying himself, though that probably had more to do with the fact that Cas was pressed against his side, whispering into his ear. Okay, so yeah, he was whispering about art, but hey, Dean could _imagine_ he was talking about something else. And anyway, even though Dean _still_ couldn’t truly appreciate the paintings, he was enjoying watching Cas’ expressions: the little smiles when Dean said something correct, or the wrinkled brow when Dean was being particularly obtuse, which was often. Anyone else would have given up on him, but Cas just kept explaining, not even laughing at Dean when he asked stupid questions. It was nice, really nice. Dean hadn’t felt this content in years.

However, they did eventually have to leave the gallery, as there were only a certain number of times you could look at the same paintings. They walked back to Cas’ car in silence and the temptation to reach out and take hold Castiel’s hand was strong. He was so close and in the dark, it felt like they were all alone with nothing to stop him pulling the other man close and kissing him...

Cas broke the silence, “I was wondering if you’d join me for dinner? I know it’s late, but I haven’t eaten yet and...” He trailed off.

“Sure thing,” Dean replied, happy to spend as much time with Cas as possible, “Anywhere in mind?”

Cas frowned, “Oh, a restaurant? I was going to cook for you, but if you’d prefer to eat out, that’s also fine, I have no prob-”

Dean cut him off, “You mean, like, cook me dinner at your house?”

Castiel shrugged, “Technically it’s a flat, not a house, but yes, that is what I intended.”

Dean grinned and gestured to Cas’ car, “Lead the way, chef.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so awfully late! I've had a lot going on in the real world, as one of my relatives died recently and I have upcoming exams on top of that also. Sorry again!  
> Also, un-beta'd but if anyone's interested in beta-ing my work, please message me. c:


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